The air was fresh and sweet, the birds twittered and chirped, the morning dew lay like diamonds on the grass, and Cricket, who, as we know, had a special delight in rising early, drew a long breath of pleasure. She chattered gayly away, and ’Gustus John, in turn, told her exciting tales of that wonderful time of long ago—“When I was a little boy.”
It was not yet nine when the wagon clattered over the long bridge, and they were fairly in town. They had to go more slowly then. They drove to May Chester’s first to leave her strawberries, Cricket pointing out the way, then to Jack Fleming’s and the Grays’. Then they turned into the home-street and drew up before her own door. Cricket felt, as ’Gustus John lifted her down from her high perch, that she must have made a trip to Europe, for it seemed so long since she had left there, yesterday morning.
“I’m so much obliged to you for this lovely ride, ’Gustus John,” she said, as they went up the steps, ’Gustus carrying her berries. “I’ve had the elegantest time riding in this morning and having you tell me stories.”
“Wal, now, I tell you,” said ’Gustus John, “I’d give considerbul down, ef I had yer to ride in with me every time I come to the city. We’d hev purty snug times, wouldn’t we, eh? Good-by. Remember me to yer pa and ma. Good-by.”
And Cricket, throwing him a kiss from the tips of her fingers, vanished in the house.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
- Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.